tell

The heat and chaos rose up to meet him like an angry ex's embrace. ..

and then what goddamit?
I mean there are things I need to know.

that noise

' I live on the top floor and I know there isn't anyone on the terrace'

This isn't a new occurrence.
That which I'm about to divulge today.
This has been going on since the time we moved into this house from years back.

'The ceiling fans in my house start talking after a while.'

Yeah. They start talking. You wouldn't realize, feel or even listen the first few months and in some cases not ever notice it.
But there are some who hear it and that's me and my brother.
It doesn't happen everyday or at one at a time. It can happen just anytime to any ceiling fan that you happen to be under your living room.
It might be middle afternoon, and you're alone in a sort of cooled room in this heat, and you happen to switch on a fan and get back to your regular mundane..could be anything.typing, eating, reading or just lazing someplace where you can hear the fan overhead and know it's spinning.

You're about your work and you realize you can hear something from very far off, you don't know what it is. Could be the blades of the fan, and you rest with that. Of course the blades of the fan are the ones making the noise you hear, but in that noise somewhere from a tunnel you can hear a voice.

You know its coming from some space between the blades of the fan just when they're about to splice through air, it's from that far..but it's there and you continue to singularly try and hear that..you're doing your work sure, but you tune your chochlear nerve to listen to that one sound and drown out the noise. You listen to that sound which started as a garble from a distant mile now turn into noises that are emitted out of signals that are trying to speak.

The ceiling fans are filtering out radio like noise in sentences in a sexless signal tone. There are words, but none that you can decipher, because the signals are not very clear. The sentences are still a garble but can pick up the voice and that there are some words coming out in an unvarying
broadcasting tone.
They're coming in a hum but they're there and the more you listen on intently the more you can hear. The words still a mush but the voices distinct broadcasts of spoken words in signal tones.

What? what? you listen in deep, what can I hear, and after a while it gets so loud, and still undecipherable. The words bleary, indiscernible. But it's there alright.  You can hear it and now it's scary.
 'I can hear something, what is it? who's there? what's going on?' and now I can't drown that sound in the noise of my house. I could hear the ceiling fan noise, but now I hear voices too, and it gets so eerie that I turn off the fan.

When I turn it on after a while, I listen hard, intent, attentive, concentrated and I hear nothing.
Nothing at all.
It'd have nothing to say for days or even weeks..until suddenly you're off sleeping in your bedroom and suddenly somewhere between just about to sleep and still almost awake you hear that noise.

Door

He wasn't used to coming back home this late at night. It was really late. The clock had struck two almost an hour back, and it was no easy task getting the key to push itself neatly into the keyhole when you're this drunk. Still he persevered. His tipsy endeavours interrupted by a flood of thoughts of the previous few hours spent at a farewell party. It wasn't his farewell party. It was a party for one of his colleagues who was trading her work life for domestic drudgeries and marital bliss and seemed almost happy about it.
"Imagine, no more formal wear. To never having to wear any formals ever",  and to this they drank till the night was a haze of drunk jokes and farewell kisses.
It was these jokes that he tried to remember while reminding himself to stand up straight and get his door opened. Suddenly there it was..a rapid flush on the cheeks, palpitations, his entire world spinning..that obnoxious feeling he knew all too well.
Excessive alcohol doing its thing. He could feel his stomach contents effortlessly surging up his throat; trying to reacquaint him with the farewell binge.
The key was in the lock, his hand covered his mouth, he impatiently twisted the key twice to the right, heard it make the familiar 'click' that indicated the door was now unlocked. Hurriedly kicked open letting himself in—gagging..both his hands now pushing against his mouth, obstructing the flow of regurgitated pub food that was all too eager to let itself out, he ran with an urgency he never knew existed in his life, kicked his bathroom door and dedicated rest of the night to his toilet.

He woke up somewhere between dehydrated and ghostly pale. Realized he was late for work and promised himself to not think for a while because it really hurt his head. His brain felt tender and he feared that it had melted into a mass of bloody goo in his skull considering all the pounding it was getting. Oh the headache! he'd once seen a couple of beefed up muscle mountains at a gym, beating the life out of a truck tyre with a hammer that was far bigger than any hammer he'd ever seen. It was some sort of work out, and he pitied that tyre for all the beating it received. His head felt the same right now. Like that tyre, except it was being hammered by Thor.

An obscenely large cup of coffee and a tylenol later he tried fixing his sleepless swollen face with a hot shower, and adding to his disappointments was the fact that when he reached for his shampoo bottle it was empty.
"This day couldn't get any worse" he mournfully lathered his hair with soap and got on with his day.

It was almost seven in the evening when he reached back home, feeling tired but not as bad as he felt this morning he remembered, and called for pizza. Feeling dehydrated still, he scanned his fridge for beverage options.
"The only thing I drink tonight or ever for that matter is juice. Alcohol be damned for all I care".

He ate while watching TV and today was no exception. Between languorous sips of juice and merciless mastication of his teeth there was something about the room that had been unknowingly bothering him. He'd noticed how the coasters were stacked on top of each other on the far corner of the dining table and he'd given it no thought, until now.
"Why were they stacked on top of each other? When was the last time I even used coasters? The last time I had dinner at home was sometime last week and I can't even remember what I ate. Did I stack those coasters? Silly thoughts" he mused "who else would do it?"
He slept early tonight. He was tired from his previous night's wretch adventures and wanted to feel fit the next morning. He'd shut his eyes, willing himself to sleep but there was something bothering him. Something he couldn't quite figure out.

He was propped on his work desk, typing furiously on his machine—crunching numbers on excel when he remembered his empty shampoo bottle.
"I'd bought that bottle just a few weeks back. How and why did it get empty so soon."
As a way of reflex his fingers touched his hair. "I might be shampooing my hair much too much. I hope they don't start thinning"
A minute later he was googling shampoo+thinning hair.

Later that evening he reached back home with a box of happy meal and a new herbal shampoo bottle.
Coasters were still stacked and he tried not to let that bother him. He looked around his living room and at first glance nothing was amiss, but look real hard and he felt that somehow things were a bit different.
"Were these photo frames always placed like this. This one seems to look like it moved". He was looking at a picture of his family framed in a basic white frame that always stood slightly tilted, somewhat tipping to the left to look a bit slanted near the TV. It looked like it had shifted just a little. It was touching the television screen now.
He tried noticing every piece of furniture and small things that stood in and around. The miniature eiffel tower souvenir that stood on the book shelf had fallen back, and rested its tip against 'Contemporary poets'.  His spare watch that he sometimes wore for important meetings that was 'always' left on a chest of drawers next to the bookshelf was sitting atop his fridge.
"what the hell is going on", he grew alarmed. "maybe there was an earthquake or something while I was traveling. But that would only explain the eiffel tower falling backwards" he was scaring himself with these thoughts. "what about my watch? how did it get on top of the fridge?"
He remembered with a start and much to his relief a conversation he had with his very drunk friend about his automatic watch, and how sometimes from days of disuse it often stopped.
"you know how the fridge sometimes starts shaking with a start. There must be some fridge term for it. I don't know what it's called man. I'm drunk. Yeah. Keep it on the fridge and your expensive watch won't stop" he'd told him between tequila shots and salt licks.
"Yeah, that's why it's on the fridge. hah." he unboxed his happy meal, washed it down with juice and slept miserably. Something kept bothering him, and he couldn't figure out what.

He was staring solemnly at his coffee mug in the kitchen, still half asleep and unable to make sense of the world; his eyes floating around his hardly used kitchen and a dish left unwashed in the sink.
"why didn't I wash this dish? was it there yesterday?" he drained a big sip of coffee and squinted at the plate. "What did I eat yesterday? Fries. a burger. I didn't use any cutlery. Ate it right out of the box. Oh yeah, pizza. I'm getting lazy. This weekend I'm cleaning the whole house." A self satisfied smile, or as much a smile his sleepy face could deliver and he hurried into the shower.
Today was an important day. There was a board meeting after lunch and a lengthy discussion on the financial projections he'd been working on.  It called for his automatic watch and his crisp yuppie suit.
He was buttoning his shirt and rewinding the last few days in his head. "I ate the pizza out of the box too, didn't I. I can't seem to remember a damn thing". He slid his wardrobe door to retrieve his suit and nearly froze.
Crouched there among his clothes was a man. A man sitting in his wardrobe. Staring back at him with his pale face, sunk eyes, expressionless..not saying a word.

"What..what" his words couldn't come out. His entire body imitated a jelly and plopped on the floor. He could feel his heart knocking against his teeth, the cold floor against his back, and that man in his wardrobe still staring at him. He wanted to scream, but there was no voice in him. White shirt sodden with sweat, his yuppie suit still in the closet, his heart thumping so loud he thought he'd go deaf. His voice was drying up in his throat. he wanted to scream for help, to get up and run away, but his limbs were rooted in their place.
Those eyes still looking at him. That face looked haggard, and scared.
His suit still hung next to the crouching man. He wanted to shut the wardrobe door and make a run for it and somehow found his voice to yell—though all he could do was mutter some unintelligent gibberish. That face kept staring at him. He knew that face, he'd seen it..but he was too scared to remember it. His legs found the strength to move, and in a flash he stood himself up and ran out of the room, out of the house, down the stairs. Not once looking back. He dripped with sweat and reeked of fear and maniacally screamed and shouted when his voice came back to him. He was tearing his hair out by the time police arrived.
What a sorry sight he was; hysteric and caked in sweat. The worst possible combination. If he looked insane then what he was telling everyone sounded even more insane.
"A man has been living in my house. He..he lives in my wardrobe. I don't know how long he's been staying there. I started noticing a few things but didn't think much of it. Believe me. He lives in my closet were I hang my clothes"

"Sir, we have checked your house and there's no one" an annoyed policeman looked the hysteric man up and down and gave the verdict.

"I ..I..he must have escaped"

"That's not possible sir. You'd locked the door from outside and you still have your key and he couldn't have jumped through any windows either. You live on the 14th floor"

"But, how's that possible. I tell you a man was in my house. He's been living in my wardrobe"

"Now now sir. Let me take you back. You're just having a bad episode. We called your office. You've been stressed out lately. You need to rest."

He found himself on his bed. How long had he been asleep?
There were prescription medicines on his side table. He was still shaking when he stood up. Slowly he walked to his wardrobe and slid it open. It was empty. There was no one.
"Am I dreaming? It can't be. I'm still wearing the same shirt. It's not even buttoned properly. Have I gone mad?"
"To hell with this. To hell with all of it. If I'm mad then be it."
He isolated himself and shut completely inside his house. No one saw him stepping out. He called for food just once every day. Sometimes once in two days. No one heard from him. The curtains were always drawn, the windows closed and there was not a peep.

He was growing madder, he sensed it and stopped bothering about it. "I don't care about it anymore".
His house was his sanctuary. He woke up late and slept late, ate when he could and wanted to. Roamed around the house, it was his  mental ward, his living space..
 Sometimes he'd clean the house, arrange some furniture, play with coasters, check his automatic watch for pulse..but he couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was still in the house..that he was not alone. Some nights he couldn't sleep, bothered with voices that haunted him at odd hours of the nights. He'd stay in a fetal position for hours, bottled in his room for days. rarely even stepping out of his bed.
There were voices haunting him, someone talking, someone watching TV, cutlery, dishwasher. They haunted him more with each passing day. He wanted to believe the walls were thin, that it was his neighbours. Sometimes he heard these voices breathing close to his ears. It was so close, someone was right next to him. Someone was living in his house and he couldn't see it. He was right all along. There was someone in the house. No one would believe him. He was terrified of the sounds. He could hear laughter, sobs, snores, moans..shuffling feet near the door.

He was not alone. "Am I hallucinating or am I delusional. Is there really something or have I finally earned my ticket for a permanent vacation to the loony bin? "where is he? I can't see anyone. Get out of my house. It's my house. you hear me. It's my house." He cried every day in the shower. What had he become? a shadow. A shell. A gaunt skeletal existence of what he was. He remembered that farewell night when he'd drunk so much he couldn't stand.
"I was trying to remember jokes that night and now all I want is my misery to end." His eyes grew hollow, sallow faced excuse for life, he stayed huddled in his room. Terrified of the voices. "Someone at the door"
The door unlocked. He froze and sat quiet. Someone opened the door and stared at his face...it was a man wearing a white shirt who suddenly fell on the floor. "Why is he staring at me? He looks so familiar"

Insect

I was making mental preparations for a five course meal for dinner; designing a menu in my head while I drove to work; what kind of proteins, starches, sauces and vegetables should I combine to make something of a humble gala for my dearest friend.

Designing a menu is something what I do for living. I'm a chef you see, of a small eatery in our small riverside town..probably the only eatery in our town that doesn't come with a side order of complementary hepatitis and salmonella..and I like to keep things a bit edgy, perhaps even eclectic by having a different menu every week; to keep everything from falling into a repetitive weariness. It'd be the death of my chef carrier if a customer came into my restaurant prattling the name of all the dishes on the menu like he just walked into a McDonalds expecting a toy with his meals.
There should be a bit of surprise I tell you; it injects vitality and develops curiosity..and I love curious customers who sometimes just check in to see what new I've on the menu..But hold on! I'm going off track here.
My five course meal plans were reduced to three course as I ponderously dunked a beer battered halibut fillet into an overworked deep fryer that afternoon, and by the time I was done shaving fennel for a particularly laborious evening summer salad, I'd come to the conclusion that best friends don't care what you feed them, as long as it's good food..and after all it's the company that matters. Food is secondary. And with that thought I drove back with a big pot of fish stew and fresh bread for main course, and decided on a cake and fruits for dinner.

I was still figuring out which beer to start icing when the phone rang "are we supposed to meet tonight for dinner. It's tonight isn't it? or is it next week, and don't tell me if we've already done dinner last week, because that'd mean I've already missed out on most appointments scheduled for this week".
"Yes, yes, it's today. In fact you should've been here some fifteen minutes back" I lied.
"Really? I apologize for being late. I'll be there as soon as possible. I've a surprise for you" he said this with a bare hint of melody in his low pitched voice, and I knew he was chuckling, albeit rather distractedly.
"Ok, I'm waiting. Come soon"
I didn't have to think too hard what the surprise would be.
Right from the time since we were little children swapping lies and muddy t-shirts I'd always known him to be a lot different from others our own age.
He had an odd love for insects and insect life. When he wasn't trapping butterflies and bees in small glass jars he was following ants with his father's magnifying glass and building up on his collection of various spiders and beetles.
His room was always stacked full of glass things. Jars and inverted glasses that housed fluttering things and crawling things.
I remember getting welts the size of fat coins that one time I had a sleepover in his room because of all the bed bugs that had somehow escaped their impenetrable prison.
He'd come a long way since then and taken insect love to new heights by turning himself into a world renowned entomologist. His love for these creatures had turned into dedication, and he'd buried himself to researching, studying and learning more and possibly everything he could about insects.
This mania had in turn taken a toll on him. Insects was all he spoke about..most conversations fused with lesser known, unknown insect facts, insect trivia, insect anecdotes, insect behaviour and insect stories.
His scientific papers and researches were most sought after by similar insect fanatics in the entomologist universe and he'd now taken to writing and publishing books that were strenuously detailed accounts of insect lives. They were energetically written and proved to be a rather painful read to someone whose only relation with insects was scraping them off their boots.
I had some of the choicest titles nestling in my bookshelf. 'Pine processionary march past of co-ordinated destruction'-apparently about some centipedes that fed on trees or like, and, 'Learn how to maintain a mushroom farm-a leafcutter ants autobiography'.
So when I say I knew what his surprise would be, I meant it. It had to be a new book.
He'd always been absent minded, letting his hair grow to uncouth lengths before he even realized he was being stared at. Often he had to be reminded to take a bath, or that he had to sleep. He was busier than his bees, working in his lab, absorbed in his insects, making notes and writing papers..and these past few weeks he'd seemed a lot more forgetful and engrossed and that to a discerning eye meant that there was a book in works, and this time it was his turn to surprise.

***

"Look, I ain't no stickler for details except for when we're plating at my restaurant, but what I see right now has blown me away to new parts of our solar system. I mean, what on earth man." I could hardly contain my bewildered happiness as I poured wine into our glasses.

Barely fifteen minutes after I'd hung up my friend had shown up at my doorstep..alarmingly well dressed and neat for a kooky entomologist, armed with a gift no less. "Since when did we start bringing presents?", my voice trailed off when my smiling insect friend, gently pushed forward a woman whom he'd been hiding behind his back, in a manner to surprise me..and surprised I was.
The only interaction I'd ever seen him having with the fairer sex was when he was murmuring to the females of his insect species, and yet here he was, grinning like the happiest man on earth, holding out a wine bottle and embracing a woman I'd never seen before.

To say that I was surprised would be an understatement..I was befuddled, totally thrown off guard and mentally kicking myself for not going ahead with the full five course menu. I mean there was my buddy with an actual person and all I had to offer was some stew and bread.
"haha, would you look at your face? you look like a puss moth caterpillar"
"a what?"
"you know, cerura vinula. It's like a caterpillar that has a face which sort of resembles a cat in a very..well..insect way. Well you know it's this.."
"No I don't want to know" I said jolting myself to reality just in time to avoid his thesis lengthed explanation of a caterpillar
"All I want to know is where are your manners? won't you introduce us?"

"So you remember when I'd left for Amazon rainforest last month" he spoke in his practical low pitched voice in between sips of wine. "We'd discovered some new species that had never been seen before. We saw these nymphs"
"Nymphs?" I interrupted.
"Yes, nymphs, not those naked women you've painted in your restaurant, but..umm..well let's say they're insect babies that will look the same when they grow up..except perhaps increase in size. As in, their form resembles that of a mature adult. That's to say they don't go through those usual larva, pupa and cocoon stages that butterflies etc go through. Does that make sense?"
"Yes" I declared with a victorious grin. "I get it, what about it"
"Well, so we discovered these tiny nymphs in the rainforest that disappeared in the thickets, and I followed them for a good long while until I realized that not only had I lost those fantastic creatures but also myself. I'd lost the trail and the team I'd come with. The more I tried to find my way back, the more lost I got until I finally gave up and decided on using the flares we'd all been provided, meant only to be fired in the contingency much as I found myself in. And while I was looking for a good spot to fire, I found her".  He looked at 'her' so passionately as he said these words that it almost made me uncomfortable to be around them,.
"You found her in the forest?" I said a bit urgently while tearing bread and serving stew to the new couple, hoping to snap him back to reality and on with the conversation. All this was making me more curious than I'd have liked.
"yes. she lived there"
"what?"
"with her people you know. They're a small tribe in those forests and she helped me get back to my team and also helped us make this new discovery. We found these insects that have hair made of wax growing out of their butt. Can you believe it, Like we have ear wax to protect our ears, those insects.."
"less insects, more story please" I said exasperated and wide eyed, for this was one heck of a story.
"Well that's it. I met her, we fell in love and now she has come back with me. We intend to marry soon". That was another surprise and a very happy one at that. We continued on with our meal. She hardly spoke. She was slim, dainty, almost frail. Nothing about her was extraordinary, except her eyes. Her eyes that looked like she was always silently praying. The way she looked at our beloved entomologist with her big moist eyes of mute devotion; of earnest adoration and wordless allegiance. It was assuring, they looked very much in love, and though this woman did not speak a word of our language, their hearts conversed as one.

***

"Come to my lab, hurry!" His voice sounded urgent but not alarming and I made a quick call to his lab.

"You'll never guess what surprise I have". 

"A new book", I said nonchalantly, for I'd been meaning to say these words in my nonchalant best since the time he visited me with his surprise a month back. "Spoilsport" he made a face. "there's something else too" he said in a way of admitting, going beetroot blush in the face.

I stared at him searching for a clue and waiting for him to say something as he shuffled uneasily on his feet.

"well, the thing is err..I have decided we'll consummate our, urr..relationship on the same day as book launch..you see, well..urr.. We're so much in love, and I want her madly, but she just looks so quiet and affectionate. Cares for me almost devotedly, looks at me with such staunch dedication, that I hadn't the heart. More so I was scared that perhaps I'd hurt her feelings..and this world would be so new to her, living in a forest all her life. But off late she looks like she's grown a bit, learnt to live in new surroundings and understand a lot more. I just wanted to share this bit with you..I don't know why"

"well, if it's my blessing you seek, then you have them dearest insect freak" 

"Just come over for dinner tonight, I've to talk to you about the book and bring one of your recherché cumin yogurt spring rolls too"

"Aye"

***

There was something different about his house. It looked more lived in and had started to gain a nest like feel about it. Things were in order and it was cleaner than usual.

My friend was still in his lab coat, pulling beers from the fridge and feeling them against his cheek to check and judge their chill. But my attention was directed someplace else, at a nondescript figure pottering in the background—fiddling with cutlery. 

He was right about her growing up. It wasn't as much physically as it was temperamentally. It was like her individuality had gained a few decades..and her eyes..her eyes awash with fossilized secrets, brimming with the same devotion I'd last seen, yet somehow flaming with a devout fervour that almost scared me. 

They looked like they'd been crying for ages..worshipping, praying.

"The book launch is next to next Saturday. Afternoon." he spoke between mouthfuls of springrolls and enthusiasm.

"How afternoon? I've a quick catering stop to make in the next town. Apparently a big birthday party. Speaking of which what about your catering for the book launch? You've not asked me about it"

"Afternoon as in regular afternoon. It's at 12:30pm. The catering is being done by the zoologist society and science club. They'd made me promise to let them be a part of it since long before. They bring the kind of food that appeals to most lab coat wearers. Amuse bouche is not really their style"

"Are you being sarcastic or seriously complementing me? What's your book called?"

"Will you come?" he squinted and half smiled knowingly.

"I will be a little late" I smiled back apologetically

"Then you don't get to know the name. It's about insects is all I can say"

"Fine, I'll be there..if I'm late, I'll stop by your house first and pick up my copy" I laughed and he made a fist to my face and laughed back and gently kissed her on the cheek. 

She was sitting beside him, listening to us, not understanding a word..her eyes bigger than I remembered.

***

I was running late. The Birthday party ended up being a wild success and I was the toast of that afternoon. They loved my little plates of amuse bouche and caviar studded diaphanous canapés. 

  I knew the book launch would be a wild success among the insect lovers fellowship and I was resolved to drop in on him unannounced and surprise him with a good bottle of vintage if he wasn't busy and if he was, I'd just leave the vintage with a sorry note and pick up my copy of his new book.

It was almost evening and the sky was streaked with purple notes..a little late I thought as I parked outside his house.

The house was not locked and I twisted the doorknob to let myself in. It was quiet..not a sound. He'd probably left for his lab. I could always visit him in his lab, and how about surprising him with his new book in my hand. He wouldn't tell me the name but I can find it on my own. I walked towards the kitchen and found a pile of books on the dining table, heaped hurriedly. With a real flick of wrist I picked one and heard a strange sound, like a low moan coming from one of the rooms. It was something of a restrained groan, almost a steady whine..a thin continuous whimper that suddenly stopped. 

Why did it sound so perilous? Book in my hand, its hardcover pressed against my chest, I walked softly towards the room. It was silent now. The hair on my hands were standing to attention, I was frightened..of what? I didn't know. Why was everything so eerie? that muffled silent groan that had suddenly died was still ringing in my ears. I was cold, sweating and now there were other sounds. Plopping sounds, like things falling on a carpeted floor, stripping noises, like someone tearing thick papers..and I could still hear a silent lamenting cry..It wasn't there, but my ears had absorbed it and played on repeat trying to drown other audible sounds.

Someone's tearing something, shredding? I had reached the door and my courage to push it open had evaporated. All I could hear was a dying groan, quiet sobs and plopping and tearing and suddenly it sounded like someone was chewing loudly..almost chomping..gnawing.

I pushed open the door with a brave jerk and it took my eyes several moments to adjust and understand what I really saw.

My friend was lying prostrate, naked on his back, softly convulsing, very softly, like he was shivering. But..how? there was a pool of blood near his neck that had soaked through the grey carpet making it a giant brown wet splotch..and his face..there was no face. His head was not attached to his neck..she was sitting on top of him, straddling him..holding his head. Eating it and riding him still. They were locked in an intercourse. She was chewing his face like a famished insect, his blood flowed down her mouth and on her breasts in little drops and pooled on his stomach. 

I was standing right in front of her, fear gripping me, my knees were wobbly. I couldn't move, and I couldn't scream. She was tearing out thick strips of his cheeks and feeding herself with such relish. Slivers of muscle and flesh hung out her mouth and she steadily chewed on them, slurping the thin fibres that stuck to her chin with blood. Her fingers were coated with gore, and one of his eyes plopped out and fell on the carpet. Greedily she stretched out her hand, picked up the eye and pushed it in her mouth, all the while he was still buried between her legs. 

She indifferently looked up at me with her mouth full, his head still in her hands, his chin was already bones, and she gnawed at his nose while staring at me..her eyes bulging, bug like..and a few seconds later she'd lost all interest and got back to devouring my friends head. I backed out silently, bolting the door behind me.. dialing the police, calling an ambulance and clutching his 'mammoth book of praying mantis mating ritual'.

1:00 AM

"It's been ever so long since I saw you. Where on earth have you been?"

Her rich full mouth stretched to accommodate a bright smile. A luxurious parting of glossy lips that were painted a brazen scarlet.
She stood in his way as he walked towards the coffee machine...though walking would be a tad overstatement to the discerning eye, for he just about dragged his feet well enough to mimic a half hearted walk.

Her hand was impishly outstretched to block his path and her question doused with a mischievous chuckle. She was childishly knitting her brows to sweetly rebuke him a little more when her words died into a gurgle on the tip of her tongue, and her hot wet smile mutated into a silent scream.

A few moments ago, she'd seen him walking towards her cubicle, knowing full well that he'd take  a detour and take the passage closest to her work area, that terminated at the end of the hall in a big coffee machine. He was such a lamb, always scared to even approach her, let alone talk or ask her out.

She'd watched him follow the same pattern for a few weeks, and had laughed at his artless pretense of drinking coffee, in between shooting swift glances towards her. She's laughed even harder when she'd caught him rubbernecking her, and he'd naively fumbled with his glasses, so that it looked like he wasn't really staring, just adjusting his spectacles..and there was nothing else needed to give him away.
She'd often strolled towards the coffee machine, smiling wickedly, licking her full red lips and watching his face grow redder in response.

"you're silly", she'd say and walk back.

These were memories from six months ago. He'd stopped coming to the coffee machine, until today. Though he followed the same pattern she thought, his endearing shy gait was replaced by a faltering trotter, and he didn't as much as recognize that smile he endured a dozen office coffee's for.
She'd decided to take matters in her own hands by blocking his path to learn more of his absence and immediately regretted it.
She had to squint her eyes to look at him. What had been a a handsome bespectacled face now resembled nothing like she remembered.

He looked like death wore a skin.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were unwell. Is that why you stopped coming to work?"
She tried to sound normal, though she did lower her gaze. It was difficult to casually talk to that face. It had taken a ghastly pallid colouring of cold dead flesh drained of any life. His hair were clumps of greying strands and his spectacles did little to hide the broad dark rims of grey under his eyes. Grey, that was smeared with black in creases where the skin hanged like victorian curtains.
Everything about him had drooped.

She looked more closely and saw every bit of him had deteriorated. Like he was disintegrating and would fall into pieces any moment now. Everything about him looked neglected.

"What on earth is wrong with this man" she thought.
His shoes were dirty, his pants were creased and stained at pockets, his shirt looked two sizes too big for him, and his tie was at its unwashed best.
Stains everywhere.
She painfully scrutinized him and saw that he was sweating like he was sitting atop a furnace, even though the ac was set to arctic chill. His palms were sweating like a watering hole, and he kept wiping them to his pants, or hid them in his pockets.

"err, are you okay", she asked him. This time seriously concerned.

"yes I'm fine". he mouthed these words hurriedly and rushed past her.
She followed him, noticing him from the back. His lethargic demeanour paired with his anxiousness made him look all the more pitiful.

"You know you can talk to me. If you're sick I can help you. I work in HR."
her smile growing more sympathetic with each word.

"No, I'm fine. It's nothing"

"I don't think so. You've been gone for so long. Were you sick? when did you join back? let's talk at lunch time?"

He searched her eyes for mocking interest, and saw only genuine concern.

"I'm busy at lunch time"

"Please", she whispered exasperatedly, clutched his arm and disarmed his inhibitions with her ever so sweet a smile.

She waited for him at the cafeteria and left disappointed. She knew he wouldn't show up.

She met him again the next day, and pleaded with him to talk to her. He looked worse than before, and she couldn't help but wonder how a man so irreversibly broken could look even more damaged in a mere twenty four hours.

"Talk to me. I'll be waiting"

After two weeks of lunching with disappointment she saw a dilapidated form of sagging flesh walk towards her.

"Don't say a word, just listen" he said.

"Six month ago I was due for a promotion and had just about finished packing up to shift into a newer, bigger, better house. I'd met a nice girl..you know, you were way out of my league and I didn't stand a chance with you. You were my fantasy, and my reality was a quiet girl who'm I'd often bumped into my building. W'd started seeing each other and soon after I'd shifted to my new house.

The rent wasn't much and the view was great. For all its merits the building was largely unoccupied, probably because it was a new building. I was a happy man. Content and had nothing more to ask of life, and those were my last happiest days.
After a week of shifting in, I realized I couldn't sleep very well. It'd always grow too cold, and I'd wake up parched each night. There was always some noise, like someone knocking or climbing stairs or banging against a wall. It was a new building and work was happening around the clock. Some lifts in separate wings were still being installed, and that noise sometimes grew louder at night.
Most nights, I didn't know if I were asleep or awake and then one day that noise stopped. I thought this would be it, that I'd be able to sleep finally.. and I'd drank an extra beer to aid my sleeping.

I was such an idiot to have such high hopes. At exactly one that night, I woke up because I distinctly heard my door open, and I was too tired even though alarmed to wake up with a sudden start..I'd slowly opened my eyes, half guessing that it was the construction work in the building again, when I realized that someone was sitting on the floor, right beside my bed.
It was a woman and she was sobbing. She'd crossed her hands on her raised knees and buried her face in it. It wasn't a sob like I'm used to hearing. It was a continuous grunt, like five animals moaning in their death throes. It was horrible and echoed throughout my room. It was still pitch dark and I felt like I'd lose all control of my bodily functions. She just sat, her face buried between her knees and making those demonic noises. They couldn't have come from anything alive..those sobs sounded like everything dying, and my heart was ready to cave in. She was inches away from where I slept. What should I do? I couldn't think at that moment. Fear had paralyzed me, and I didn't even realize that I'd sweat enough to soak the sheets. I jumped out of the bed and tried to run, only..hahaha, that creature had a hold of my ankle. I looked back and she was slowly raising her face. That face wasn't even a face. It had no eyes, it had no nose, it had no lips. Just a thick vertical slit. She was naked, and menstruating on my carpet. Her head was sewn with a hellish darkness of hair, and that slit that looked like an incision stretched and spread all over her face.. until her face was nothing but a hole, and she let out an unholy cackle, like a string of helpless screams patched together to form a laughter.
She threw me back on the bed, and went back to burying her face between her knees, and started weeping. That maniacal noise again. I don't remember anymore from that night, because when I woke up, it was morning and I was alone and burning with fever. My ankle had dislocated and I had lost my mind.
I was not sure whether it was paranoia or just a nightmare, but I couldn't spend another night in my house.
Fear had gotten the better of me, and I dared not talk of it to anyone. That night I stayed at my girlfriend's house and did not have the strength in me to sleep, but I must have dozed off because at one that night I woke up..there were muffled noises coming from the kitchen.
I switched on the lights and walked into the kitchen, only to see my girlfriend stuffing her mouth full of broken pieces of glass and chewing on them. Her face was lacerated, there was blood everywhere, and she was chewing on glass. Her features were mangled. lips torn, half her tongue lay on the floor, blood streaming down her chin and her cheeks were punctured. The lower half of her face was maimed..mutilated. Shards of glass stuck out of her cheeks and nose and I spent that night in a hospital.

I got my message. It had to be me..all alone. In my room.

Each night at one she now walks in, sits down near my bed, and sobs. Makes those ungodly wailing sounds―a grim symphony of every abominable ungodly howl. Like a sickening lament of every obnoxious curse..like bawling victims on a torture table about to have their toes plucked out, have their skins pulled out, have their genitals branded with burning needles."

"umm, I have to go. I hope you feel better"

"have their eyes scraped with needle points, have their bones torn out with pincers..."

"have a good day" he said.

The well

'Mother earth's very teat; it'll never dry'

"The well was always a mystery, it never dried you see. No matter what the season. It helped my people through the harshest summers, the longest droughts, even through war. The war never touched us either. We were lucky to be living near the mountain serene. We would escape to the mountains without a worry, and lay low till the danger died, and come back to our village and our well. We were a prosperous lot, only because of the well—water as calm as patience and as clear as a baby's conscience..it irrigated our fields, quenched our thirst, washed our clothes and streets"

'there was so much water that even thorns softened to petals'

"There was no bottom to that well. They said it was connected to the heart of mother earth, and mother loves her children, and gave, gave all it could. No matter how much water the village used, the well always had more. It must have been enchanted, for its water never became foul, even after months of disuse when my people abandoned the village to take shelter in the mountains. The war was on us and nobody knew who was fighting whom, only that all the young ones were being enlisted for a destined slaughter.
War is a hungry one, it is. It doesn't know what it wants, but has an empty belly all the same and gorges itself with bloodshed and tears and merciless malice. It grows and grows yet stays indifferent to sufferings and pain..craving carnage..its guts are filled with gore. It cleanses itself with bloodbaths and stays dirty still. Yes, war was upon us and all the little lads and men from all the neighbouring villages were forcefully drafted to die for a cause no one knew.
That was when we escaped to the mountains. We were just a small village of happy farmers. What did we know of war? Our children grew up sheltered in abundant fields, spent their summers climbing luxurious opulent flowering trees, ate the most exotic fruits and knew nothing save happiness. War was not for us or our children.. for we never saw pain, nor knew desolation and despair..We were content..all we knew was joy. The well kept us that way and we saw no reason to change what mother gave us..and so the whole village repaired to the mountains.

We waited for months knowing full well what was going down below. We heard noises, shouts, screams, smoke rising from distant lands. Everything below the mountains was shrouded in a feverish sickness of misery. There were blood curdling screams, we saw streams turn red with blood and later green with rotting flesh. There were flies and foul stench, and there were days when the skies turned black with flying scavengers. Thousands of vultures readying for a feast, hovering overhead, waiting to swoop and tear what was already dead.
The putrid stench of death grew so thick that we had to abandon our shelter and move upwards still, lest the contamination reach us too. But we were blessed and so we survived.
One day the skies cleared, the smoke didn't fill the air, the thin stream ran clear again and we knew it was time to make our descent.

We were worried about our village and mostly about our well. The sight that greeted us was most horrific. The streets were caked brown with dried blood. Most of the houses had burnt down, our fields looked barren—they were ravaged by war and hungry soldiers. The few houses that still stood had been ransacked and looked like they were used as shelters. Wasted rusting weapons and half rotten carcasses of humans and cattle alike littered back alleys, and there were no walls that weren't smeared with blood. Bloodied hand prints of dying soldiers, chipped skulls in large dried pools of what must have been blood, bits of dried flesh still stuck to some walls. Pieces of bones lay everywhere, some picked off clean by efficient scavengers, some still wrapped in skin that had turned to leather under the blazing sun.
 There was nothing ever as saddening as what we saw, thousands lay dead..some of them had disintegrated to dust, some still waiting be absorbed by soil..and then we came to our well. It looked as untouched as ever. The water sparkling, clear and sweet as we remembered. The well was fine, and we knew we would too.
The next few days were spent in cleaning the village, restoring our fields, rebuilding our homes and bringing life back to normal, for we'd heard that the war was now over, and thousands upon thousands died..with no clear signs of who actually won.
We washed the streets a hundred times over till all the blood that clung to it was but a memory, we washed the walls and repainted them. Reconstructed our broken canals, sowed more seeds, erected new trees and our village was back to as it looked. It shone with white brightness, exuded the fresh clean smells we'd loved, and life seemed like it was back to normal, until one day we saw small children..no bigger than six or seven lugging small pots and glasses into our village.

It was early morning, the sun shone red in a sapphire sky and we saw children, with sallow sad faces, hollowed eyes, dead smiles, ragged clothes carrying small clay pots and urns—whatever their little fingers could tighten around. They came into our village from neighbouring villages asking for water. They were expressionless, most looked like they'd been crying a hundred years and none of them was older than ten. They begged us for water, for they'd been walking since even before the sun came up..we told them to take as much as they'd like. Our magical mother god well stood proud, its never ending luminous clean water rippled ever so slightly by small cups and clay urns.
 By afternoon our village was teeming with hundreds of small children from nearing villages, taking water and leaving back for their homes. Most of their clay water pots broken, some chipped from the mouths, some carried only small bowls and copper cups, and it was a sight we'd never seen.
The children looked weary, most of them barefoot, their grief stricken eyes lifeless with dread..and they were all sad. So much sadness and mourn that it was heartbreaking to realize a child had seen so much suffering.
We asked why did they have to come all the way, why couldn't they send their elder brothers and sisters..and they told us that all their elders brothers and fathers had been forcefully enlisted into the war and now were either dead, missing or limbless, their sisters had gone missing or dead since hordes of soldiers showed up in their villages. Most of their fields and houses were burnt, the food was stolen and what was left behind were just small children and mothers.
The water they told us, was not to drink alone, but to wash away the endless tears of their mothers"

    "They have been crying since our fathers and brothers were taken away. They cried when our sisters didn't come back from the fields, when our fathers returned home with no legs, when they found our sisters dead in a heap of naked flesh by the river, when our brothers' half rotten bodies were sent back for burial. They've been crying since then, and we have no more water to wash away their tears"

"We shivered at their words, these innocent children..their words seeped in so much dread and what was most tragic was these children so young to only half understand the sick hurt of these wounds, with their tormented faces and questioning eyes, came each day clutching small pots and tiny glasses to our well. We let them take as much water as they liked, and after a few days they stopped coming..because our well had dried up."

Secrets

"Here's your morning tea my precious",  he placed the tea cup on a side table, and before she'd even opened her eyes, she could smell the warm fragrance of ginger and cloves emanate from her tea. She had declared the importance of morning tea to him during their courtship days "It should be strong, with at least a teaspoon of grated ginger and two cloves, and boiled long enough to let the tea flavour make itself heard; just a dash of milk, only for the colour and not too strong that it's bitter.
He'd gotten it right in his second attempt, and now all she ever had to do was loll around lazily in her bed, waiting for her morning cup of joy, which her husband brought her unfailingly every day.

Clouds had smothered the sky that morning, and winter had begun to lethargically creep in. She squinted at her favourite blue cup, and snuggled in her warm sheets for a few more minutes, until the piping hot tea was sip ready.

She felt his warm lips reach her temples, followed by gentle fingers caressing her cheeks, drawing stray hair away from her face.
His voice was a soothing rumble of dulcet copper. Her neck hugged back the tips of his fingers, and with each feathery stroke on her face, she felt her heart well up with happiness.
   "I've made you your favourite breakfast, and it's enough to keep you well fed till afternoon my sweet. We can go out for dinner in the evening, if you want. How about that wonderful Italian restaurant your friend was telling you about, would you like to go there my love"?
 She nodded her head with a vague air of carelessness, and felt as though everything he was uttering came through some distant tunnel, like a far flung echo which she couldn't bother with listening to right now. "uhmmm" she uttered through sheets that half muffled her mouth.

"Alright darling, I'll be off now, I've a meeting in an hour and there's much to prepare"
"yes, yes" she thought to herself, as she rolled her eyes (while shut). Being pampered in bed was one thing, but making small talks in the morning was quite another.
She felt another soft kiss, this time on her lips and a moment later heard the door closing behind receding footsteps.

A few short sips later, she found herself strolling into the kitchen and beaming with glee when she spotted a small flask with some more tea. "How thoughtful, he always knows what I want. Did I strike gold or what"? she mused half smiling half yawning, as she strode back to her bed, and sat herself back in still warm sheets.
The sky was straddled with voluptuous clouds burgeoning with moisture, and it was still dark as the time slowly crept past nine. Every five minutes she resolved to cast aside her warm blankets and traipse into a new day, and kept deciding to do so until it was almost ten, and someone rang the doorbell.
"What now"? Covering her night shift with a warm cardigan she opened the door.
"garbage this morning"?
"(ugh, you're garbage that's what you are)..errm no, none as yet, come in evening"
with a quick swing the door was shut, and she walked into the bathroom for a quick shower.

It was well into noon, when she broke fast, and rolled her eyes (open this time) at the rain splattering against the window. It was a percussion of fat droplets smattering against the buildings and forming little pools on terrace tops. Impassively she scanned her horizon while chewing on her third egg salad sandwich."too much mayo, must ask him to stop with this mayo love. We bought a big vat of whipped cream cheese, why can't he use that to make a sensible dip"? she opened the fridge to quickly confirm, "yup" and sloppily banged the door hard enough to almost rattle the fridge, got back to gazing at the rain, this time with her head leaned against the window glass, and with a bored long sigh she made way to her living room.

It was a day no different than others, only except that it was raining today and breakfast was egg salad sandwich. "what was it yesterday?" she couldn't remember.
habitually she turned on the television, flicked through a hundred assorted channels and finally settled on one that had a movie playing..not that she cared to watch it, but it wasn't boring, and it wouldn't distract her if she didn't pay much attention to it.

The phone rang, it was her husband she knew.
"hello darling"
"hello sweetness, how are you? had your breakfast? what are you doing? I love you my little darling"
yawning "yes, yes (so many questions), had my breakfast, just watching tv, you know"
"well, the meeting went fine.."
"why do you use so much mayo? we've cream cheese, use that next time"
"ok, sweetness"
"ok go now, I've things to do. what time will you come home?, send me a message I'll be ready to go out for dinner. ok bye. kiss kiss"
'click'
"Ho hum, rubbish movie"

It was around seven when she was refreshing her lipstick with annoyance at her husbands tardiness. The bell rang, she quickly wore her shoes and grabbed her purse.
"garbage"
"arrghh, come tomorrow"
Just as she was about to rid the still waiting garbage collector, her husband walked up from behind him, clad in an affectionate smile, he courteously asked the garbage guy to wait and handed over the garbage bags he'd already segregated into recyclable and non recyclable in the morning.
"Sweety, you could've given it in the morning" he said as he silently shut the door behind the garbage collector.
"Ugh, I didn't know, and don't always keep telling me what I should do. You're late. We must go"

Back into her side of the bed almost twelve hours after she'd left it "the food was good, they could've gone easy on the garlic though" she was going through her nightly routine of degreasing her face and applying fresh coats of moisturizer.
"The only thing good was you", she felt a kiss on her shoulders, a finger on her neck, a gentle embrace from behind, and the obscure rainy night was showered in shameless confessions of unchaste moans. The panoramic highlight to her everyday, when he tenaciously absorbed her very core from a drizzle of frenzied squirms. Feasting on her swollen lust, his every movement gratefully complying to her each writhing motion absolving her of everyday drear, until all she could do was gasp at the ceiling open mouthed in broken screams, feeling in rhythm hot breath upon her face, guilty of rhyming in unison and an eager tongue that fed her mouth, until the wanton storms subsided into placid waves.

She loved the part that came after this,  after he'd rolled off her quivering, quiet, satisfied and sore self.
Her nightly hot chocolate, that he claimed was a secret recipe. She always had it before bed, and in the two years that they'd married, there'd never been a day that he'd missed making it or she'd missed drinking it. It was a dark pool of rich chocolate, with just a whisper of cinnamon thickened with cream sweetened with honey and fragrant with a splosh of rum, Oh how she loved it, and in long lip smacking gulps she finished it, kissed her husband and woke up with sun streaming in her face to the words "here's your morning tea my precious"

The days passed on, long and insipid, nights each tinted with lascivious luxury, until it was a weekend marred by rain and unfalteringly increasing chill
"let's go drinking today"
"alright my darling, but let's not make it too late"
It was well past midnight when they stumbled into their house.
"you had too much to drink darling. Don't pass out, or fall sick. Let me make you some hot chocolate"
 He left for the kitchen still in his party clothes, hurriedly making his wife her favourite night cap, but it was too late. He found her asleep on the living room couch, passed out

She woke up with a parched throat, sometime around three, fumbled around for her sipper, and drank until it was almost empty. Snuggling back to leech on his warmth, she realized his side of the bed was empty.
"Where is he?" the bathroom lights were turned off. She thought of giving it some more thought, but sleep felt too sweet
The next day was a mingle of grey skies and hangover. "where were you last night?", she asked him between sips of tea, rubbing her temple, toying with a tylenol. "You weren't there when I woke up to drink water"
"you were too drunk last night"
she could see him arming himself with a cautious smile, as he bent forward to stroke her face and massage her head.
"are you feeling better my sweet. Let me make you some lemonade after you've had something to eat"
"you didn't answer my question, where were you last night?"
"nowhere honey, I was sleeping right next to you. You were so drunk, you don't remember if you dreamt it up"
smiling his wonderful thin lipped smile again, he stroked her head and went off to prepare breakfast.

"Something's up. Well, let's see if he disappears again tonight".
She was resolved to stay past her bed time and decided on different strategies to do between mouthfuls of her hot chocolate routine.

"here's your tea my precious", she woke up with a start, and stared at her husband who looked at her with his usual kind eyes, and a loving smile, which seemed like a triumphant snigger to her.
"are you mocking me?"
he looked bewildered and hurt, wordless he kept her tea cup at her usual place and left the room
"this....isn't.... working" she thought I've to stop making him suspicious, or maybe I'm being silly. "No, that's not possible. He wasn't there, and I've to confirm if he disappears again. Tonight!!" she thought

Night as usual. She'd downloaded a game to play on her phone at night, under the covers, so he wouldn't know she's awake.

The doorbell rang.."uh huh" she muttered and opened the door
"garbage"
"Come in the evening (get lost and never ring this doorbell again)"
"what time is it, why didn't I wake up for tea?"
The tea was a cold pool in blue cup. "what's wrong with me? why can't I stay up? I just had that hot chocolate and then I was playing that game and then..." It was with a spasmodic flash that she suddenly realized "it's the hot chocolate, isn't it. I sleep because of the hot chocolate." Her face was a jigsaw of anger and confusion. "Only one way to confirm this"

That night she only pretended to drink the hot chocolate and she couldn't sleep, but she knew how to impersonate sleeping wives. Mummified under her blankets she laid silent, breathing steady, when sometime around two she felt her husband stir. Silent as a shadow, he slowly pulled back his covers, slipped on a sweater and tip toed out of the room. She heard the main door open and shut with a sound no louder than a silent sigh.
She immediately got up, her heart pounding in her chest, her throat suddenly felt dry. She couldn't understand what to make of it. Her husband had secretly walked out of the house in the middle of the night.. but really what drove her mad was that was for two years he'd been fooling her with hot chocolate and clandestine night movements.
Still unsure she walked out of the room to check if he'd really left that night, and had he really been leaving her asleep each night in her bed while he went out..went out for what? to meet someone?
She crept out noiselessly, switched on the lights, and there was no one. He was gone.

"How do I confront him? should I just let him know that I know of his mysterious night excursions? or better, I should just stay awake and surprise him with a fist when he comes back" she was shaking like a leaf with anger and irritation. She couldn't understand what really made her angry? ― the fact that her husband was possibly having an affair, or that he fooled her into sleeping each night, supplying her liberally with his secret hot chocolate that knocked her out cold.
"that filthy lying bastard. How could he? I'm his wife. how dare he? he's conned me if anything. Soothing me with his words and.." and what? he gave her no reason to ever be unhappy. This was the happiest she'd ever been in her life. Nothing was asked out of her, she was pampered, taken care of, satisfied, pleased, indulged, loved and each night she was loved hard, more than she ever thought or knew..but still―how dare he.

"I will not wait up for him and confront him. I will follow him tomorrow and catch him in the act. He'll repent all his life, beg me to stay with him. I will torture him till he's all tears and reduced to nothing. I will ruin it for him and her. Whoever this woman is. Two years....two ...years!!"

She was sobbing now, thinking if she really loved him, questioning his love for her. "How could he be with someone else and love me still? he loves me true, I know it."
she remembered all those times his fingers traced around her face while she slept in the morning (or pretended to sleep), when he played with her hair, and sniffed her neck and smacked his lips..she smiled thinking of those times.
"I have to find out about this woman"

She spent the next day hiding behind a nonchalant face, each second imploding with palpitations. She knew her heart would cave in before the night was through. Her smiles were few and dry, and conversations monosyllabic. Instead of melting under his wanton touch, she feigned a headache, and asked for her nightcap, lest he be suspicious.
As yesterday, she feigned drinking it, lapping at it with exaggerated loud smacks, followed by a careful drainage in the bathroom sink, and laying inert on her side of the bed.
Soon a stir, followed by her husband donning on his sweater and walking out, a replica of last nights movements, except this time she was a shadow following him.
She had followed him down the stairs, keeping a distance of almost two floors between them, he'd often looked back, but she kept to the darkness and snuck down slowly, keeping her back to the walls. She'd followed him as he walked out on the road, creeping stealthily from behind parked cars, hiding, crouching, walking swiftly, sometimes walking while hunched, keeping her head lowered and out of his range.
She followed him as he walked into the local park, keeping herself hidden behind trees, shrubs..creeping from behind artificial waterfalls, staying huddled in green shadows. She followed him from a distance until he halted near a small tool shed.
It was eerily silent and he stood there, just stood there.
"probably waiting for her"
It was then she noticed how this park looked so different from each morning. It was a busy landscape full of people, small children and dogs in the morning, but at night.. it was a forest. Trees, ponds, little bridges, fountains, everything had assumed a nightly hue, and seemed to come alive with a chimerical enigma. The bright green of the day, was a cheerless green sin. The leaves seemed to have absorbed the night ink and turn into a godless grim.
It was silent, but loud with insects ―nighttime animals, small cats, rats. She heard small fish come up to feast on worms in a small pond behind her..she heard the rustling of leaves, swift murmurs of scents that were windblown in her direction, from flowers no doubt, and she felt cold..so cold.
She didn't for a single moment take her eyes off her husband. Awash with moonlight, he looked as beautiful as ever. Kind eyes, broad shoulders, strong arms, and a voice that could make strong women weep.
He was staring at nothing, boring holes in a distant void only he could see, and slowly, with steady movements he took off his sweater.
She followed his gaze, but there was nothing. "She ought to come, anytime now" and she stared and saw him unbutton his shirt, peel off his socks, take off his pajamas, and stand naked, as naked as one could be in the green darkness of the lush park
"what on earth is he doing? is he preparing for her. awaiting her arrival all naked?" she was seething again.
"Now, should I just sneak up on him now, and make him feel miserable?. No I will wait for her, catch him red handed in the act and.."
her thoughts stayed in a tangle of wordless emotions when she saw her beautiful husband smile and laugh and slowly turn into a small green toad and leap off into the green grim darkness.

Metamorphosis

It was a Saturday afternoon unlike any other Saturday afternoon. It was his fourteenth birthday, and on this bright cloudless day, the boy spent his time camped out in their garden with his parents. Spring was at its peak, the sky shimmered brighter than any blue it had known, and the small family of three basked in the clear sunshine of this happy Saturday.
They'd laid out his Birthday feast on a jute mat on the freshly mown grass, green as moss and bejeweled with dew. It was a feast alright..mother was up early making his favourite food. There was cake, with thick splodges of buttercream frosting (his favourite thing in the world), fresh bread, fizzy drinks, fruits that he'd helped father pluck from their very own garden trees and fried snacks of all kinds. "it's a picnic" his mother had said, "but instead of going out, we're staying in, and we'll have so much fun in our own garden. The flowers are blooming, there are new birds, and all the trees have put on chlorophyll makeup".  The boy liked nothing better, he had few friends, and preferred the company of his books and playing by himself alone in their big garden.
The day was warm, accentuated by cool breeze, and soon his parents had started yawning and this he knew was their adult indication of nap time. Sprawled out on their jute mat, under a lazy sun, they lay dozing in that impossibly perfect weather.
 It was his fourteenth birthday, and he knew he had to do something fun, something silly, something like climbing that big cherry tree to get a better view of his surroundings. It was while he stayed stuck on the second branch of the tree that he caught a glimpse of something moving in between the leaves. "what on earth" he muttered, and bent a little more into the leaves to get a better view. It was like a rainbow had assumed a living form, and learnt to crawl its way on leaves. In a chaotic array of bright prismatic hues was a tiny caterpillar. "wow" he gasped. "I've never seen one so beautiful. It's so different than any other caterpillars in our garden. it's golden and purple and green and blue and so shiny". Gently he held out a leaf and the caterpillar leisurely crawled onto it and began nibbling.
"the little guy is hungry".
He carried the leaf, walking a gentle pace, lest it cause the caterpillar any turbulence and showed it to his now awake parents. "Mom, look..look what I found", he half shrieked, half whispered with excitement. "Oh dear, that's one beautiful caterpillar. Won't it be the envy of every flower in our garden", smiled his mother as she goggled at the hungry larva.
"Mom, can I keep it please?. It'll make such a nice pet, and such a beautiful one too".
"Of course, it's not like it's a dog, you can keep it. But what'll you do once it's a butterfly"?
"Then the butterfly will be my pet" he laughed and hurried to his room to give his new found pet a cozy room.

He found an old shoe box, and laid it with a layer of cotton and leaves to provide his pet a soft bed. Then ran out to the refrigerator and yelled out "Mom, what do they eat?"
"Leaves, leave the fridge be. Pick out some fresh ones from the garden".
"I'll help" father said and plucked out carrot and lettuce leaves and even some apples.
"take care of that little thing, he's one of a kind, and looks like a rare one"
"I will dad, and I'll give him fresh food each day, so he becomes even more colourful. we'll have so much fun together"
He rushed back to him room and looked at the ever hungry new found pet. "here, eat some more". It was almost strange, the way it looked at him, acknowledging him, or so the boy seemed to think.

Each day, he couldn't wait for his school to end. Running back to his room, peering into his shoe box, he'd spend hours talking to his caterpillar. "he understands me, and waits for me. I know it. He recognizes me."

One day, on account of extra classes at school, the boy reached home a few hours too late and as he ran to greet his pet his mom met him on the doorway, looking a bit worried.
"It's not eaten anything today. Just stayed there in its corner, not moving. I don't know what's wrong"
"what?" the boy shrieked and ran to his room
"what's wrong with you" he sobbed, "are you alright". He held out a lettuce leaf to his caterpillar. And it was almost as if he'd been roused from coma, the caterpillar moved, looked at the boy and started nibbling on the leaf.
"oh" he cried and looked at his mother.
wide eyed and a bit confused she said "it really is your pet. I think it was waiting for you"
"he is my little pet, isn't he" he smiled and for a second he though the caterpillar smiled back too.
"Tomorrow is Saturday, I'll take him out to the garden. Look how fat and pretty he's become."
It was true, the caterpillar was glowing with a warm bronze belly. Its colours shimmered with a radiant brilliance and echoed an exotic bouquet of unearthly flowers, wrapped in sparkling green translucence.

The boy woke up to the splatter of raindrops on his window pane. It wasn't morning yet and the day promised to be a sunless gloom he knew.
"I'll sleep some more, and surprise mom by coming early for breakfast. But before that, let me feed my fat friend". He rolled out of bed and stared sleepily into his shoe box.. but it was empty. "Oh my god" he switched on all the lights. "where are you, where are you, where are you" he half muttered half wondered half yelled hysterically.
"He's gone, oh my god, I can't find him". He ran to the smell of freshly brewed tea permeating from the kitchen and found his mom, bent over a mug, straining tea, half asleep, still in her soft slippers.
"Mom, I can't find him"
"Oh, wait. I'll come and check" She finished straining tea, mug in hand and followed the now almost weeping boy.
"Look, he's not in his box. He never leaves his box. Where is he"?
"Stop crying, there it is. Look at your study table. Near the table lamp."
There it was, not a caterpillar but a strange shaped silk box.
"Is that a chrysalis"he muttered?
"Yes, looks like your pet is finally going to be a big boy" she laughed sipping her tea and left the room.
"Oh wow, look at you, all weird and silvery and polka dotted golden. You're a fat pupa. Oh boy, I can't wait for you to come out. You'll be the most gorgeous thing this side of the planet. My pretty pet".
The boy had got into a habit of checking on his pet every hour to see if the metamorphosis had been complete.
"I wan't him to see me the first thing. I know he'll recognize me. He'll sit on my shoulder while I go to school and sleep on my pen when I do my homework"

And then one day as he got ready for school, he felt something stirring. It was deja vu. "I felt this way when I found him on our cherry tree. Him and I, we are meant to be"
Buttoning his shirt he gazed uninterrupted at the stirring chrysalis to greet his little pet, and crawling out slowly was his caterpillar..not a caterpillar anymore.
Its beautiful golden rainbow hued wings, were now a mottled gray, with black splotches of dull tar. The beaming crystal transparent skin now a papery cloth. Broad winged, powder sooty coloured grotesque moth.
It crept out slowly, unfurling its wings as dingy and ashen as death, its body a ghastly existence of loathsome horror. More insect looking than any insect, the caterpillar had morphed into a nightmarish wretch of a moth.

Horrified, the boy stared wide eyed and disgusted, and backed away slowly, too repelled and speechless to say anything.
The moth flew out, opened its wings wide as it could, and stared at the boy the same way it did as a caterpillar, and flew over to him.
By now the boy had rolled a newspaper, and swatted at the moth "eww..get out you, disgusting thing. eww".
he swat at it repeatedly, till he'd driven it out of the window, which he now shut with a loud thud,
"Ugh" the boy said.

songs from the sea

   
      ... 'the fish never want to see the sun'

The sea relentlessly hugged the shore in a symphony of crashing waves, kissing the salt soaked sand, washing over it tirelessly. Picture perfect blue each morning, the beach was a tar black enigma at night outlined with faint white waves, that devotedly died each time they hit the sandy shores.

scrape, scrape 'grunt, phew' scrape, went the little fishing boat as it was slowly pushed into the pitch dark night waters of the midnight sea.
'grrunt.grrunt. phew. Just a little more. phew' the fisherman murmured to himself, as he pushed his little fishing boat, till it hit the waves. 'A little more' and he pushed it again. He could feel the sea wrapping around his knees, it was almost to his waist, when his boat miraculously steadied itself afloat. 'That's a good girl then', he smiled and heaved himself onto his wooden livelihood, and as effortless as breathing he started paddling, steering his little boat into deeper waters.

It was a full moon night, and as he steered further away from the shore, he knew the sand would glint like a million diamonds under the satellite. This picturesque, almost dreamy landscape that could've inspired an artist one too many, was to him another night, indistinguishable from a thousand other starlit nights.

He knew this routine well enough to repeat it in his sleep, hell, he could do it from his grave. Each night he'd set off on his little boat, equipped with a net, older than time itself and a new bottle of fermented coconut water. The net by the looks of it, had been mended several times with an unskilled hand, but it worked- 'it catches enough fish, to get me by. Some I eat, some I sell and the rest I give away. Life is good. It could be better, but what do I need more in this small village. I feel content, even if a little lonely, and for that I have this', he smiled at his bottle of fermented coconut water, and chugged it, coughed a little, and drank some more. 'There's no purpose, I know, but I don't need purpose in my life to feel content. What purpose do fish have? Just swim, and feed and make more fish and get caught in some net?. haha', he mused, laughed and continued paddling to where waters got impossibly darker.
It was the deeper part of ocean, where he'd often struck gold with several schools of little fish, and sometimes renegade bigger ones too.

The sea grows eerily calm when you feel yourself getting closer to the horizon, and as the fisherman looked up at the cloudless sky, he felt like it was mismatched with the night. Sure there were stars, a thousand of them; it felt like the sky was a dark village with a single road paved with glitter, and they were falling? 'shooting stars, so many today. That's new. Maybe it's a good omen'.
He held up his bottle and peered at the star studded sky through its thick soda glass, and laughed. 'The only worthwhile thing I know in my life apart from fishing is making fermented water', he guffawed, and with one seasoned hand stroke flung his net into the inky depths, and sat and waited. Just like every night..and then for a fraction of a fraction of existence, he sensed a smell. A smell strange to the sea, he smelled a flower, and just like that, it was gone. 'What on earth' he murmured annoyed. 'This is one of those irregular moments that aren't supposed to happen. Maybe I drank too much'. He swished around his bottle and drank some more, and pulled back his net. 'huh, no catch. the fish are sleeping, haha. They found a purpose I guess.' He inhaled in deep again, same old salt breeze, no flowers.
'Let's go a bit to the left, I know they're biting there, my favourite hotspot', and he paddled a little more. Thankfully, the breeze was favourable and in five minutes he was ready to cast his net again, when there it was again. This time more pronounced, a faint whiff of a whisper of a flower, like a gentle flap to his senses. 'Flowers, why do I smell flowers in this godforsaken sea? I'm supposed to smell the sea, the salt and fish', but there it was again, like a streak of light and suddenly he saw something.
He stared hard, the flowers he felt were all around him, but there were no flowers, nothing..except his little boat, rocking gently in vast open darkness and a flash of light swimming near his boat. 'Is that a lightbulb? but why is it still glowing?god? is it swimming? I've had too much to drink' he stared at it and wrapped himself in the exotic sweet scent of flowers that now surrounded him.
The little glare of luminosity swam ferociously. It was a rich golden blush, almost an incandescent orange and looked like a careless drop of sun had taken to the sea.
'What on earth is this? Is this why I smell flowers?', and in a blink of thought he spread out his net.
His trained ears knew what those splashing sounds meant, he chuckled to himself. 'looks like I've caught the little sunshine'.

He pulled it out, and saw the little thing thrashing painfully in his ancient net. He brought it closer to his face to inspect it, and at that moment he felt like he was standing in a rich forest of luxurious blooms. 'By the heavens, what are you?' he murmured. 'You glow brighter than all the bulbs, and smell like heavenly roses. Won't you make a neat little pet, in my tiny bowl. You can glow all you want for me, and mask the stench of fermented coconut water. Looks like you've found your purpose in life—to make me happy.'
'My purpose in life is to be free', the fish murmured and for a second, the fisherman almost dropped his net into the sea.
'you talk? or am I drunk?'
'I talk, but I shan't if you put me in a bowl. neither will I glow, nor smell of flowers. Please let me go.' pleaded the fish in a faint jangle that sounded like waves.
'If you talk, lightbulb fish, I'm sure you can sing. Sing me a song and I'll think of letting you go. If you don't, you can stay in this net and die' the fisherman leered at the little fish, licked his lips and took a big swig from his bottle. 'go on, sing then'
  And the fish sang. It sang of the colourful corals, and the seaweeds. Of rainbow coloured conches and giant crabs. Of rocks buried deep in the sea, and thousand year old krakens. It sang till it could sing no more.
'please let me go now. I sang as you wanted. Please set me free'
'What's in it for me? If I set you free, what do I get? will you sing me a song every night?'
'No, I cannot do that.' the fish sobbed and pleaded the fisherman to set it free.
'On one condition' the fisherman said licking his lips greedily. 'you sing for me every night. If you miss even a single day, I'll put the word out for a glowing fish, and it won't be difficult for fishermen to hunt you down. You're not that difficult to miss. Sing for me each night and I will maybe spare you.'
'No, please no. I sang as you asked. Please let me go'
'make a choice, fish. Either I put you in a little bowl, or you sing. What'll it be.'
'Come at the same hour each night, and I promise to meet you here and sing' wept the fish.
'tomorrow then', said the fisherman lowering his net, 'if you don't show up, I'll make sure you end up on a plate'

The fisherman had found a purpose in his life, created his own little secret. each night he'd stay surrounded by the smell of flowers in pitch dark seas, and hear the fish sing. Its voice like lilting raindrops falling upon the ocean.
Each night, he'd paddle himself to the same place, and spend hours, listening to the songs of deep ocean pearl blankets, gentle sea snakes, thriving living fossils, rebellious anemones.
Each night the songs got sadder, but he threatened and urged the fish to sing till it was daybreak.
'Sing me another song, or I have my net you know'
and the fish sang, mournful, jaded, morose, monotonous, cheerless.

From full moon to full moon. It happened over a hundred nights, when the fish told the fisherman it would sing no more.
'I'm tired and unhappy. I cannot sing for you anymore, because I don't want to. It's been a hundred nights, and I want to be free'
'but you are free' laughed the fisherman, gulping the last of his fermented coconut water, staring at the orange sky. 'see, it's morning, and soon you'll swim away. You're free'
'But I'll have to come back at night and sing again. That's not free. I want to sing when I want'.
'Do you want me to tell the world about you, stupid fish? I'll come again at night, till then you're free'. The fisherman made his way back to the shore, humming to himself, the same tune he'd just heard, of a sea cucumber that fell in love with the sea bed.

He returned to the sea at night, and waited for the little fish. he waited for an hour, and waited till he'd finished the contents of his bottle. 'where are you little', fish he shouted. 'I want to smell flowers in the sea and hear your voice. Come out, or I'll have you hunted'. Hours passed by. The night faded into bright streaks in the sky. Stars disappeared.
The fisherman was panicking now. 'where are you fish? you'd better not have cheated and broken your promise. I'll tell the world of you, and they'll hunt you down. come out fish. sing me a song' his voice grew hoarse and desperate.
He inhaled hysterically. 'flowers, my flowers. I can't smell them. The sea is getting blue, and you're not here. Do you not feel it with me? your purpose in life? how could you abandon me? I've nothing to live for. Come to me, sing a song, let me smell you'. he cried as he spat each word. Breathless with tears, he screamed till he could all but croak 'don't leave me fish...smell..sing..flowers..I beg you...what'll I live for?'
 He didn't remember when he slept, but when he woke up, he was still in his fishing boat, and the skies were starlit again. Parched, hungry yet hopeful, he waited. 'I know you'll come tonight fish. what else will you do?' but there was nothing. He was tired, hungry, thirsty and he didn't have the strength to paddle back to the shore, but somehow he did.

Night after night, for over a hundred nights, from full moon to full moon, he took his fishing boat to the same spot, to smell flowers, to hear a song, but each night all he ever did was cry, and shout, and throw curses in the air. Beseeching, threatening, begging the fish to come back.
He never smelled the flowers, never heard another song.
His misery had reduced him to a thinning shadow, too weak to take his boat into the waters, he'd beg every fisherman to look for his glowing fish that smelled like full blooms, it sings, he'd say.
He'd torn at his hair in anguish, beaten himself out of frustration, and sobbed himself to sleep each night.
   His eyes had sunk into the hollows of his sockets, his ribs now protruding, he could barely walk. He was reduced to the local freak show, of the scary skeletal lunatic, pleading everyone to look for his fish.

'the sea will drive you mad' they'd say. ' No fish looks like a sun, they hate the sun. They know they'd die if they ever saw the sun' they'd say.